


Heal Thyself

by Edonohana



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Healer Needs Help Healing Self, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Massage, Physical Disability, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana
Summary: Sebell and Oldive are forced to admit their feelings when Oldive is injured in a shipwreck.





	Heal Thyself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityabrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/gifts).



Sebell would never sail like a Sea-Holder, but practice had made him competent. But sailing with Master Oldive aboard made him feel like a nervous youngster carrying something precious and fragile, like a fire lizard egg, in clumsy hands. He was so focused on keeping the skiff afloat and headed in the right direction that he could spare no attention for the pleasure of the journey.

But his anxiety must have been well-hidden, for it had clearly not infected Oldive. The Master Healer sat in the skiff with his long legs stretched out amidst his herb-collecting baskets and bags, breathing deeply of the sea air and observing the rippling ocean with visible enjoyment. 

“Some say the sea breeze itself promotes health,” Oldive remarked. “It doesn’t seem to be true, for there are no fewer illnesses in the Sea Holds than in the landlocked ones. But now I understand why people believe it.” 

He turned his heavy head with the very slightest of winces. If Sebell hadn’t been watching him closely, he wouldn't have seen it. Sebell wondered, as he often had, how much Oldive’s twisted spine hurt him. Even minor awkwardnesses of fingering or stance while playing a gitar or harp, could lead to pain or even injury when repeated all day, every day over the life of a Harper. Unlike an apprentice who could be taught to stand straight, to not hunch, to keep the neck aligned with the spine, Oldive couldn't correct the angle of his neck or back. 

“You should come sailing again,” Sebell suggested. 

He stopped himself from adding, “with me.” The Masterhealer had never given the slightest indication of having the same feelings for Sebell that Sebell had for him. 

They lived in Harper Hall together, and saw each other, at least in passing, almost every day. The few times that Sebell had some minor injury or illness, Oldive had cared for him with the same assured competence with which he cared for all his patients. But the only reason they were together today was Healer’s business, gathering a rare herb. When Sebell had heard that a sea trip was required, he'd instantly offered to take him, using the excuse of needing to practice his sailing.

“Yes,” Oldive said, sounding wistful. “If the herb the Sea Holders spoke of prove useful, I will.”

And that was that. They sailed on toward the craggy island where an herb grew that the Healer of Black Rock Sea Hold said reduced fever better than willow bark. 

A golden speck in the blue sky caught Sebell’s attention. Kimi, who had flown ahead, arrowed out of the sky to land on his shoulder, chirping urgently. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the message she was trying to convey: black clouds, lightning flash, heaving seas...

He opened his eyes and looked at the sky with dismay. In the brief moment it had taken him to receive Kimi’s warning, the storm had come upon them. The sky had darkened and clouded over, the sea had gone from clear blue to slate gray, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. 

It was the kind of storm that sailors dreaded most. They happened rarely, but blew up fast and with little warning. 

“Hold tight,” Sebell ordered tersely. “We need to reach the island before the storm hits. There’s no time to turn back.”

Oldive’s strong hands clamped down on the sides of the skiff, but his face showed no trace of fear. Kimi dove into Sebell’s shirt as freezing rain sheeted down. She became the one point of warmth in the storm that tossed and buffeted the little boat. Sebell struggled to keep control of the skiff. He had to keep Oldive safe—

A great wave loomed ahead, so vast that it seemed to swallow the sky. Sebell fought hopelessly and hard to turn the skiff aside from the blue-black wall of water. And then the wave came down atop them, striking them with as much force as if it had been made of stone. 

Sebell was suddenly struggling in icy water. It filled his nose, his mouth, his eyes, his ears. He could see nothing, hear nothing. He was tossed about until he couldn't tell which way was up. It was like going _between,_ but even more terrifying and disorienting. If Kimi drowned—if Oldive drowned—

He forced himself to calm. He could endure _between,_ and he could endure this. 

Between _lasts for three heartbeats,_ he thought. _I don’t need to breathe for at least that much time._

Talons pricked his shoulder, and he felt a tugging at his shirt-sleeve. Sebell swam upward, in the direction of the pull. His face broke through, and he gulped down air that was half sea-spray. Kimi hovered, beating her wings frantically to resist the wind. Sebell looked around desperately for Oldive, but could see nothing past the waves that kept breaking over his face. 

“Here!” Oldive’s deep voice was audible even above the crash and roar of thunder, and it brought immense relief to Sebell’s heart. “I’m here!”

“I’m coming!” Sebell shouted, and nearly choked as another wave slapped him in the face, filling his mouth with salt water. 

He swam in the direction of the voice until he could see Oldive struggling in the water. Sebell struck out toward him. As soon as Sebell came within reach, Oldive gripped his shoulder hard with his left hand. His right arm trailed in the water.

“My shoulder's injured,” Oldive said, his voice startlingly calm. “I can't use my right arm. I can kick, but you’ll have to tow me.”

Sebell, treading water, searched for either their skiff or the island, but could see nothing but dark waves and darker skies.

A flash of gold arrowed toward them. Kimi hovered, her wings and body brilliant against the gloom, and gave an urgent chirrup. 

“Lead,” Sebell called to her. “We’ll follow.”

He swam after his brave fire lizard queen while Oldive kept a firm grip on his shoulder. Sebell didn’t know if she was guiding them to the skiff or the island until he saw a wide, pale shape before them. Moments later, his feet touched sand, and they were stumbling onto a beach. 

Sebell felt Oldive stagger, and he instinctively put his arm around the injured man’s waist. Oldive leaned against him. He was as cold as Sebell felt, and his shivers were transmitted through Sebell’s chest. They had to get warm, somehow. Sebell was no Healer, but he knew that long exposure to cold and wet could kill even a strong and healthy man. 

Kimi’s shrill cry broke into his worried thoughts. The men stumbled toward the sound, leaning on each other. As they walked, the light brightened, though the rain continued to lash their bodies. But now they could see that there was a cliff ahead, pocked with caves. A downed tree leaned against it, providing additional shelter from the storm.

Stepping from the storm-wracked beach and into the cave came as a shock. The sudden cessation of the icy whip of rain and wind was such a relief. Inside the cave, the sounds of the storm were muted by stone and wood. The light was dim, but enough came in from outside that they were able to see each other.

Sebell helped Oldive sit down on the stone floor. His own legs felt weak, and his eyes and lungs burned from salt water. He was freezing cold and ached all over, and couldn't stop shivering. Oldive was also shivering. The hands that Sebell had never before seen be less than perfectly steady were now shaking, and one arm dangling limp.

“How…” Sebell coughed, then breathed deeply, controlling his voice as if he was about to sing. When he spoke again, the words emerged clearly. “You said your shoulder’s hurt?”

Oldive nodded, gingerly touching his right shoulder with his left hand. His face was white and drawn with pain. “Ah. Dislocated, not broken. See?” With his shirt soaked to his skin, Sebell could indeed see an abnormal lump and a hollow where the joint should be. With a touch of bitterness, Oldive said, “Or maybe you can’t, blighted as my body is.”

“I can see the displacement,” Sebell said gently. It hurt him to hear Oldive speak of his body like that, as much as it hurt to see the injury itself and the pain it caused. “What can I do to help you?” 

Oldive frowned. “Much as I would hate to see you hurt, if it was your shoulder that was injured, it would be easy work for me to set the joint in place. But I can’t do it to myself.”

“Could you direct me to do it?” Sebell asked. “As if I were your apprentice?”

“You have strong hands and arms, and a quick mind. Yes. You can do this.” The confidence in Oldive’s voice lent itself to Sebell as he went on, “If we were in Harper Hall, I’d have you cut my shirt off. But since you’ve lost your belt knife…”

“No need for it.” Sebell took Oldive’s shirt in his hands and ripped it apart, then eased off the rags around his injured shoulder. 

He thought he saw the healer’s dark eyes traveling along his arms as his muscles bunched to tear the tightly-woven cloth, then dismissed the thought that Oldive was watching his body. Was watching _him_. He must only be dispassionately observing to make sure Sebell was doing everything correctly. 

Sebell could hardly help noticing Oldive's own body, and not only with the eyes of Healer. While Sebell had seen other apprentices and journeymen, and occasionally other masters in some state of undress, he’d never seen Oldive with his shirt off. Sebell supposed he didn’t like to display the malformation of his spine. But though Sebell did see the painful-looking twist in his spine and neck, he also saw the solid strength of muscle in his chest and arms, the grace of his hands, and the appealing scattering of brown hair across his chest. His nipples were a darker brown than his skin… 

Oldive’s voice took on a familiar teaching tone as he said, “Next, take my hand in yours.” 

Sebell wrenched his gaze away from Oldive’s body and took his hand. It was bigger than his own, with longer fingers. Touching it that way felt very intimate.

“Turn it over, so the palm is up,” Oldive went on. Sebell could hear and see that Oldive was now immersed in the healing that was his vocation and mastery, and that his pure true focus on that took away his pain. “Now bring the hand to the center of my chest. Yes, there. Now, turn over my hand so the palm is down.” 

Sebell turned over his hand. There was a sharp pop. Oldive gasped, then gave a sigh of relief. He flexed his fingers, which now opened and closed easily. 

“Thank you.” Oldive’s dark eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. “Is it too late to steal you away from Harper Hall and make you a Healer?”

“I can be your apprentice for this night,” Sebell replied, trying to match Oldive’s light tone. “What else can I do, master?”

“It’s very cold, and we’re both soaking wet. We have no way to light a fire, and we may not be searched for until dawn. If we don’t warm up, we may both become ill.”

“And…?” Sebell had learned many things in Harper Hall, but not how to keep warm when soaking wet and without a fire.

Oldive spoke in an impersonal teacher’s voice, as if Sebell truly was his apprentice. “Our bodies retain heat. If we share it, skin to skin, both of us will be warmer than if we sit apart. The best way is to strip and lie face-to-face.”

Sebell could only hope that the dimness of the cave hid the hot flush of blood that heated his face, and hope even more desperately that his body wouldn’t give anything away when they were pressed together naked. But he couldn't argue. The Masterhealer knew best how to prevent them from getting sick from cold. 

Looking away, Sebell stripped off his wet clothes and spread them over the floor atop the rags of Oldive’s shirt. At least they’d provide something soft to lie upon. He was so intent on staring at the floor that all he saw of Oldive was his bare feet (long and elegant) as they moved from a sitting to a lying position. 

_I hardly require warming,_ Sebell thought wryly. _Between embarrassment and desire, I’m quite hot enough already_.

Before he could have any second thoughts, he quickly lay down. And pressed his body ( _skin to skin_ , his treacherous thoughts echoed) against Oldive’s. 

At first his mind was in such a tumult that he might as well have had no body at all. But he calmed himself by playing a peaceful tune inside his head, and slowly sensation began to seep back in. They were lying on their sides, chest-to-chest and leg-to-leg, with their hips decorously apart. Oldive’s arms were around him, as strong and warm as he’d always imagined, and his head rested on Sebell’s shoulder. The weight of it, the softness of his hair, and the sheer intimacy sent a wave of tenderness through him. 

Sebell too had clasped his arms around the other man’s back. He shifted his grip a little, telling himself he should make sure all of Oldive’s body was warm, but he couldn’t help exploring as well. There was the twisted column of his spine and the knobs of his vertebrae; there were the hard muscles and soft skin of his back. 

He kept his touch very light, as if he was coaxing the softest whisper of sound from a gitar, as he reached Oldive’s injured shoulder. “Does it still hurt? Would a massage help?”

“It’s sore, nothing more. It’s too soon to massage those muscles, but—Well, it’s too soon.” Oldive’s voice wavered slightly as he replied, making Sebell wonder if he was in more pain than he was willing to admit.

“But the others?” Sebell pressed. “Your back feels very tense. And your other shoulder. I do know how to give a massage. You taught me yourself!”

He felt as well as heard Oldive’s chuckle. “True. It spares me the work if you Harpers can tend to each other in that manner. In that case, let us see how well you learned.”

Sebell remembered that lesson very well indeed, for Oldive had demonstrated on him. Perhaps it had been then that he had first realized that his feelings went beyond simple admiration for the Masterhealer's intelligence and skill. And from desire to love had been a very short step. Repressing a sigh at what could never be, he turned to his task with a will, searching out the knots of tension and pressing them out with a gentle relentlessness that at times made Oldive catch his breath.

“Am I doing it too hard?” Sebell asked, worried.

“Not at all,” said Oldive. “Sometimes pain is necessary for healing. Your patients will thank you for it… later.”

Sebell laughed, and went on. But the focus on Oldive’s body that massage required soon began to make itself felt in Sebell’s own. His face burned once again as he felt himself begin to harden. He started to ease his hips farther away from Oldive’s. But doing so brought them into a brief moment of full contact that made him gasp, both from the jolt of pleasure and from sheer surprise, for Oldive was hard as well.

“It’s not just me?” Sebell blurted out.

For an instant, he felt Oldive freeze. Then, slowly, his muscles once again relaxed. “I might say the same!”

“But… How long…?” Sebell could hardly comprehend it. What he had always believed to be this own hidden desire was shared? 

“Since I taught you massage—“ Oldive began. And then his laughter joined Sebell’s. “I suppose we have that in common too!”

“But why did you say nothing?” Sebell asked. “I believed all this time that you never thought of me that way!”

A heavy sigh sent a ripple through Oldive’s chest. “Ah, well, with my body twisted as it is, and yours so perfectly made…”

Sebell’s heart caught with the realization of how much more pain than simple pining Oldive must have borne. He took Oldive’s hands in his, stroking them as he spoke. “Look, here are your hands, with such long clever fingers, and so much strength in them. The knuckles are big, which I have always admired in a man. And they are hands that have done so much healing, which makes them precious. They are hands that hold life.”

“But…”

“And your feet,” Sebell went on, twisting to massage them. “Such perfect arches. Like a finely crafted harp. Your legs, with long lean muscles. Your back—” 

Oldive started to pull away, but Sebell leaned into him, running his hands along the older man’s spine. “Yes, your back is twisted. But it is a part of you, and every part of you is a part that I desire—that I find beautiful. A gitar with streaked varnish that was made by a Master is still a Master’s gitar, and far more precious than a instrument that looks prettier but has no depth of sound.”

At that, Sebell felt him relax. But he was still taken by surprise when Oldive’s lips met his. They were soft and warm, but there was force and passion behind him. Sebell opened his mouth, and was lost in the delight of that first kiss.

And then they were moving together, their bodies locked in a tight embrace, not for warmth but in passion. Sebell forgot that he was cold and wet, and he could sense that Oldive had forgotten his pain. There was only heat, and desire, and a building urgency that spent itself in ecstasy.

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, relaxed in body and mind. Sebell didn’t know how long it had been before he noticed that the cave had grown warmer and brighter, and the sound of the raging storm was replaced by the steady swish of waves.

Kimi chirped from the entrance of the cave, her eyes whirling. He heard the sound of beating wings, far bigger than hers, followed by the thump of something heavy landing on sand. 

“A dragon!” Sebell exclaimed. 

He and Oldive scrambled into their still-damp clothes and left the cave to see who had come for them. It was Mirrim, on green Path, accompanied by her three fire lizards. 

“Don’t think we didn’t worry about you,” she said. “But Kimi came to visit my fire lizards, so we knew you were safe."

Sebell and Oldive exchanged a glance, realizing when Kimi must have done so given that neither of them had noticed she'd ever been gone.

Miriam, misinterpreting their shared amusement, said, "It’s not easy for a dragon to fly in a storm like that. Not even for Path!”

“Of course,” replied Oldive. “I would never ask her to.”

Mollified, Mirrim said, “I brought you dry clothes. You can’t go _between_ in wet ones.” She handed them out, then turned her back so the men could dress. When they were done, she said, “Should I wait while you gather your herbs?”

Sebell and Oldive once again glanced at each other.

“They’ll be too sodden by the storm to be useful," Oldive said. "And Sebell still needs practice sailing. We’ll just have to come back.”


End file.
